


Spell-breaker

by lqbys



Category: One Piece
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dark Fantasy, Explicit Language, M/M, Magic, Pining, Royalty, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lqbys/pseuds/lqbys
Summary: Empires, kingdoms were at war. Races against one another, queens gone mad, children dying of starvation. Eustass Kidd was to wed someone from the notorious Donquixote family to preserve his own. It wouldn't be so bad, really, if Trafalgar Law weren't a cursed skin-walker with one single thing in mind: revenge.





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have [this](https://ibb.co/cNmXKhX)\- it'll help! drawn/colored it myself bc i liked the idea of having a map for this world, althought not yet finished

Sengoku did not remember much of his wars, those he fought and those he led, but he had vivid memories of his father’s, some even stretching as far as his grandfather’s time. Whitebeard’s campaigns, Fisher Tiger’s attacks, battles on wide, terrifying seas or deadly rainforests; in the deserts when Alabasta almost fell down, or high in the cold mountains of the North when Wapol the First tormented his people. 

There was something about those soldiers clad in shining armors, the thumping of warhorses running down fields, the sounds of metal meeting metal or slicing flesh, the mystic glow of magic in the midst of men killing men—something that caught his heart when he was ten and riding besides his father, living his first battles, that he never felt ever after. Not even when the crown became his alongside all the problems that followed, not even when he commanded entire armies to glory. Not then, and certainly not now. 

Outside, the skies were a dark shade of grey, clouds which never seemed to empty no matter how hard rain had been pouring all day. Thunder roaring, storm raging, but neither the City nor the people were bothered. Sengoku was. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” came a gruff voice from the far back of the room, followed by the sound of leather squeaking, stretching. Perhaps his old set of chairs needed replacement, but they were, like his father’s wars, the only real reminders of a time long gone. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.”

Sengoku turned, at last, a heavy sigh pushing past his lips. “Times must’ve changed. I remember those being my words to you, once.” 

Garp barked a laugh like thunder. Times had changed, there was no denying that—enough that opening the Gates to the devil himself seemed like the only alternative to avoid some more massacres. Sengoku never understood what drew every man’s heart to the crown, why most would kill to sit upon the throne and rule when it was the loneliest, dullest place to be. 

“It wasn’t an ultimatum,” he said, eyes trailing over the shining roofs of the buildings and houses. Streets were full of young mages fleeing school to play in the rain. “Neither a threat, nor a warning.” 

Garp did not ask, add anything. Joker wasn’t the type to do any of the above: he barged in, the Family behind him and hell by his sides, did what he wished to do, and left. An arranged marriage felt just about the same, only it took the fun and blood away from the usual Donquixote raids. 

And Sengoku had accepted. As a King, protector of the Highlands, father of its inhabitants, watcher of peace, he had accepted. Had no choice but. 

Garp grunted, lighting up his third cherry cigar of the hour. “Noble houses won’t like it. The Council will protest. Roger’s beard, the Celestials will have a stroke over this whole thing, Sengoku.” 

“They will,” Sengoku confirmed, still motionless in front of huge window. Why wouldn't they, after all? It was their peace Donquixote threatened, it was their lands he was granted free, legal access to. It was their children he'd slaughter in the dead of the night. “They all will.” 

None would understand. Or perhaps they would, yet still press and fight his decision just to keep Joker out of the Highlands. A tremor ran up his left arm, the first signs of the terrible migraines he had been suffering these past days. They couldn’t keep the warlord outside their magic-fueled gates much longer, no matter how hard the Elders tried to bury some shameful past. 

The Highlands, no matter how mighty and impregnable, were the most treacherous, unsafe, and hazardous of places. They had the advantage of height, but were seized all round by Emperors, mad queens, rebels; evil could crawl its way up the Red Hill, however slow and hard the climb may be with the Watchers and Sacred Forces to stand in its way, but the free folk couldn’t flee any higher. They were stuck in their scarlet cage. Sengoku _had_ to do it.

“It is war, Commander.” He closed his eyes, saw flashes of silver and strikes of red behind his lids, scented the mud after the rain, the smell of blood and crushed spirits after a lost battle, heard the cries of young ones and those of men sent to their own death. He lived it all one too many times, as a child, as soldier, then as a king, not to carry its remnants everywhere he went. “If making the enemy one of my own will protect us all from our impending doom, then I’m willing to take the risk.”

Sengoku had a hard time remembering most of his own wars, but Joker’s were ones he could not ever wipe out of his mind--his wrath was one he prayed day and night not to ever come his people’s way. 

 

( - - - )

 

There was nowhere to hate as much as home, Joker was sure of that. 

His mouth twitched, lips pulled down in a sour expression. The Wastelands. Kaidou’s magnificent, dire, sickening and deserted wastelands. Chains of black, dusty mountains, tearing through the grey skies, ominous and threatening. Grounds dry and wretched, nothing but carnivorous plants and evil-eyed creatures to roam its deserted territories, a painting of grey and red, no sign of any kind of settlement around for miles. But people lived there, and somewhere west hid Amazon Lily, a stark contrast and ninety degree change of scenario. 

For all the desolation and horror he was used to and on a good hair day, liked to be the cause of, Joker still hated those godforsaken wastelands with all his guts. 

There was beauty in annihilation and destruction, but none to find in a land so fruitless and dead. Wind, like any other strong-willed creature, was aggressive, dust flying and stones flying everywhere. His coat would’ve been stained of one thousand awful things, blood, filth, absorbing the constant rotten stench of the wasteland’s earth, so Joker left it begrudgingly behind. Walked lazily in the middle of nowhere to Kaidou’s castles, bored. 

Upset. 

Talk about damned hospitality, honoring guests. Was he to walk all the way to the gates of hell by himself, no warrior sent to fetch him, welcome him as he deserved in a land deserted by the gods themselves? Joker didn’t mind the little promenade and fresh, crisp air, but his cloths and hair did. One could only hope to cross the ashy deserts of the wastelands and not end up covered in filth. Ah, to be back home and longing for nothing more than _out_. 

The wicked cry of a winged, dark creature resonated from the mountains. A murder of crows passed above his head, and Joker felt somewhat envious of the huge black beasts. If only he could fly himself all the way to Kaidou’s front door-- _but_ , times of war. Times of war called for some diplomacy. One couldn’t waltz in in his sworn enemy’s territory with the same arrogant, unbothered negligence that one would anywhere else in the world.

And, after all—Joker was here to offer peace, you see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flesh-eaters. Joker despised those little heathens, but he had to admit, they had a wicked sense of fashion, yet not a bone of self-awareness in their body. 

Kaidou castles were built by monsters, for not one, but too many monsters. Donquixotes took pride in the live-mansion and its fancy yet impregnable design, but what loomed in front of Joker, carved in the dark, cursed mountains was a sight to behold and never forget. The warlord had been there several times of the past, yet it never failed to inspire awe. 

Colossal, frightful, spine-chilling. Even from far away, outside the Kaido warriors camps, behind the tall caravans and tents, the Castles were huge, dwarfing everything around. They had to be. The horns of the carved skull on the mountains ascended all the way up, piercing skies, tips hidden. Its open mouth was the entrance, lower jaw stretched all the way down to the ground in rough, rocky stairs. Featherless, slick, black chimeras, aggressive and famished, lurked around the mountains and the castles, serving as cruel guardians. Their glowing, red little eyes shone like thousand of dots in the darkness as they kept guard and tested the nerves and heart of any who dared walking up the endless stone stairs. 

Joker stood an outsider at the doors of enemies but it didn’t matter in that moment, for he seemed utterly lost in his contemplation. He took back whatever it was that he said about the Wastelands. They _were_ breath-taking.

Rows of men had gathered around, encircling the blond giant, roared in their harsh, barbaric language, curved blades held tight in their mighty fists. This far off the actual castles and their fortifications, Joker sensed no real danger, none of Kaidou’s important men anywhere near. Such a shame, really. He glanced down, disgusted by the muddied warriors, the stench of tent stacked upon tent, men living and shitting in the same narrow, croded space. A twist of his little finger and they’d all drop down like flies, but—but, peace offering. 

Peace making.

Joker sighed, hands still in the pockets of his sand-colored linens. Sandals, he wore sandals, the venomous, double-headed scorpions be damned. Would Kaidou take his coming as an insult, unannounced, alone, outfit not fit to see a King (with no crown), he wondered. He certainly would. Age makes the old dragon cranky. Joker smiled slyly.

“Hakyuju no Kaidou,” he calls, voice loud and strong, shutting up the flesh-eaters in an instant. Joker hoped it’d reach the black mountains and the ears of the drunk dragon hidden in there. It would. “Show yourself, ancient one. I come with great news.” 

 

( - - - )

 

 

Joker, cross-legged, was hanging from the dark skies—an old trick of his—illuminated by the moons’ rays. The Eustass mansion was quiet, servants, princesses and princes asleep, but its patriarch couldn’t sleep much lately. Sleep came with a hard price. Harld offered some tea, but the giant refused politely, saying he had pressing matters to go back to. 

But first, this one. “You’re playing a dangerous game, old friend. I still wonder how you convinced the Council to let the bad, bad Donquixotes in.”

Harld sat at the balcony’s great table, his view of the City blocked by Joker’s massive form. He smiled slightly, hands folded on his lap. 

“You already have the answer to this question, brother.” 

Donquixote could fly himself up to the holy city of Mary Geoise that very second if he wished to, Harld was sure. The Elders didn’t need convincing, only an excuse to let Donquixote in, and house Eustass provided just the right one with the best timing. A better alternative than closing their eyes the day the entire Family came conquering and slaughtering the free folk, pretending they didn’t know about the attack. Pretending Joker wasn’t a monster of their own making. Rampant corruption was what kept the free cities high and mighty when the common folk starved and died, and Harld had many cards to play to keep his house from the sort of fate that happened to those naïve enough to believe war wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ climb all the way up to the Highlands. 

And Sengoku wasn’t cruel—he just knew when one should and when one shouldn’t yield when facing greater forces in order to protect his people. Doflamingo exploited that sort of pragmatism, of course. The feathers of his coat bristled as he leaned in, the same thin smile stretching his lips.

“In any case, you see me delighted.”

“I ruined my house’ reputation to grant you access to the Free cities of the Highlands. I expect you to be,” Harld said, tilting his head a little—there was humor in his words, but there also was an edge to his tone, which Joker didn’t miss, brow raising a little.

“Granted access?” Joker chuckled, opening his arms wide. “Look at me, Harld. I’m already here. But I suppose you are right. By the way, your package—it should be ready and delivered by the end of the week.” 

“Good,” he nodded, standing up slowly. “Well, old friend. We shall meet again first rays of spring for the ceremony.”

Doflamingo’s fingers barely twitched before he stood and began floating, unbothered by gravity and most of their world’s issues. The warlord gripped his forearm firmly, fingers digging into Harld’s skin. 

“We shall,” he replied, and this time he wasn’t really smiling. When he bowed his head slightly his glasses slid down the strong nose, Harld met the eyes of a man whose mere existence threatened everything sacred and saint, justice and peace alike—cruel and unkind, full of something ugly and frightening. “Until then, Harld, take care.” 

“You too,” Harld said—and Doflamingo vanished into thin air.

He stood motionless from a while, eyes cast towards the twin moons. In a few weeks, his last son would wed a Donquixote and that would either change the world for the better, or be the downfall of the Highlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, again!! lemme know what you think of this, i appreciate every single comment <3


	2. Chapter one

Kidd told himself he didn’t have to like it. Sure thing, it sucked ass—but it could be so much worse. 

Standing there, waiting as anticipation—excitement—nibbled at his nerves, he thought it might even be a good thing. He could’ve been shipped to some unknown wastelands where trees stopped growing and people started eating people to survive, as Bonney had been. Hell, he could’ve been sold to Celestials, stripped of free will and chained down like an animal, serving as circus clown or cheap whore depending his masters’ mood—yet his fate was of another kind. 

Kidd told himself an arranged marriage with a complete stranger from the Other side couldn’t turn out to be that much of a fucking disaster if he kept his spirits up.

“Chin high, boy.” Father’s tone was hard, gaze fixed on the end of the great hallway of the mansion. “They’re coming.”

He stiffened a little, biting back curses. Shit, what if it were some mean old lady, war widow and mother of little shitheads? Kidd was given no detail, no description, no gender, nothing. Father had announced it over diner three weeks ago like he’d announce tomorrow’s weather, casually, factually. You’re going to get married. No fucking shit, Kidd had said. Who even married at eighteen? Apparently, all the wealthy young ones from the Highlands ever since the war broke out. Something about securing dynasties, legacies. Or was it?

“Do not speak unless spoken to.” 

Kidd clasped his hands behind his back and felt sweat trickle down his neck. 

God, he felt horribly hot in that awful suit-armor. There were shiny jewels decorating its front, the whole thing made of Wano steel, so very rare these days. Hair braided tightly and gelled back, though Father allowed the lipstick to remain. Small mercy, but that breastplate was _suffocating_.

Kidd didn’t understand the need to show off any more than their mere existence usually did on its own—mother of god, they lived on the richest cities atop the Red Hill in a luxury mansion, which already told a hell of a lot about how damn rich they were—but Father had insisted. Had to give a great first impression, didn’t he? Kidd could only hope. 

He heard steps approaching. Several, then dozens—how many were he to wed? A group detached from the shadows, walking down the huge, intimidating corridor which walls were decorated with dead patriarchs portraits, every single one of Kidd’s ancestors or so he’d been told. He sure as fuck didn’t look like any of them, but the old ones always said he took every bit of his mother’s looks. Not a single glance was spared to the portraits.

The group then divided itself, three men only getting closer. Kidd’s guts were a mess of tight knots and he’d been chewing on the insides of his mouth so much he started to feel copper tainting his tongue, though he had no real reason to feel this way, up until he had.

When they were close enough for him to see their coat of arms, Kidd drew in a sharp breath.

“Quick hands, quicker deeds, old friend,” a grinning man saluted, bowing his head a little—not to look down, but show respect.

Kidd glanced warily at Father, but the man was unfazed as he took a step forward. He extended his arm which the tall blond man gripped in a friendly gesture, as if they’d known each other for years. 

“Be the most welcome in my house, brother.” 

Donquixote Doflamingo. Kidd was to marry someone from the Family. His mouth went dry as he fought to keep his composure before the man who haunted every kid’s nightmares in the realm, even when his sharp eyes shot to him. It seemed absolutely surrealist but at the same time, paradoxally, nothing felt realer than the man’s crushing aura, the sheer brutality and strength emanating from him.

“Here’s the wild little thing you’ve been talking about,” he said, still gripping Father’s forearm, somewhat of a mocking curl to his lips. “Eustass Kidd.” 

Harld nodded, not looking at his son. “And here’s your prodigy. I imagine you’ve taken care of the… issues.” 

Donquixote’s laugh was something Kidd did not want to ever hear again. “You know I always keep my word, old friend. He’s been disciplined.” 

The warlord stepped aside, revealing the young gem of the Family. Joker’s presence had been so overwhelming Kidd had not noticed the two standing behind, but now that he did, the atmosphere seemed to shift on its own. 

There, next to Doflamingo’s right hand stood a strange, strange creature. Eyes of steel, grey as storm clouds, intelligent, hard, jet-black hair and a svelte silhouette you could guess under the layers of nightwolf fur hanging like blankets from his shoulders. The same age as Kidd perhaps, features crafted in marble, impenetrable yet bearing the softness of a boy whom had yet to fight the King’s gruesome wars. Or perhaps he already had—it seemed his features morphed into something entirely different, older and crueler, as their eyes met. Kidd looked away, unable to look at his soon-to-be. . . heavens, _spouse_ any longer.

Father’s voice raised again. “Come, my friend. Let us drink and eat first before dealing with our troublesome offspring, for your journey must’ve been long. The Family is welcome to stay and replenish as long as needed.” 

“You have our endless gratitude, brother,” Doflamingo smiled with a little tilt of his head.

“Show the way, son.” 

Kidd almost jumped out of his own skin, but managed to look stoic enough to get a nod of approval from Father as their eyes met. Good. He hadn’t disappointed him. Things had gone pretty smoothly so far—he hoped the rest would be as easy.

Breathing out a little yes sir, Kidd stepped aside as courtesy demanded, letting the guest of honor walk a few steps ahead. Doflamingo seemed pleased enough, no doubt already familiar with the mansion as he strode lazily besides Father, none speaking.

Kidd remained a few steps behind Vergo, himself walking on Joker’s steps. He did not attempt speaking to the boy next to him, keeping his gaze straight ahead, walking steady despite his rapid heartbeat. The whole thing would’ve been very solemn and quiet had it not been for the rest of the Family trotting way behind, their voices echoing in the great hallways. Kidd’s mind was whirling—he couldn’t deny his interest spiking, but there were also many, many interrogations filled with curses.

First of all: what the fuck. 

The Donquixote Family was known across continents, islands and seas. Powerful and wealthy, feared in every kingdom, notorious slave-traders, merchantmen, mercenaries and most importantly: criminals. Most were too afraid to admit it, never mind utter the word even in the faintest whisper, but the fact remained. Kidd trusted Father and would never doubt his judgment, but this—associating their houses and names by marriage—was the most unwise of choices. 

Still. So long as he did not have to wed Doflamingo himself, Kidd still held on tightly on his opinion—it could be so much worse. 

The great hall was already prepared when they arrived. Aromas mingled, meat was fuming, diner as colorful as it was diverse, no doubt the best of what their house’s cooks could do. Though Vergo and his future spouse remained mute, Doflamingo whistled his admiration. 

“Heavens. This all look delicious,” he commented, before turning to face the Family slowly gathering at their back. “Come, friends! Let us enjoy the feast brought to us.” 

 

 

 

 

 

The Highlands, especially the Red Hill, had always been colder than the rest of the realm. Perhaps it had to do with topography, but Kidd liked to believe it was because everyone here put emotions and feelings in tight drawers and approached every matter under the sun with indifferent practicality. Father was no different. 

Joining houses with Donquixote Doflamingo was _all_ about being practical. 

Empires, kingdoms were at war. Races against one another, queens gone mad, children dying of starvation. The free cities of the Red Hill were yet to be bothered by what went down below, but Father had taught him from a young age that nothing ever lasted and one shall always except the worse. The worse here was the end of house Eustass come the day his brothers died in battle, father of old age, and Kidd was left the sole bearer of their sigil.

Kidd’s never had a very sharp perception of things, but he still couldn’t see how the mute boy sitting in front of him could help in the matters of procreation. Father needed him to secure the dynasty, which meant have an heir or something. What now? Now, maybe times had changed, magic constantly evolving, and men could bear children too. Fuck if he knew. 

“So, tell me, Eustass Kidd.” Doflamingo licked two of his fingers clean before he reached for his cup. “What do you think of my little bird?” 

Kidd blinked, brought back to reality in seconds. 

All eyes were on him. The great dining table made of Adam wood extended from one side to the other; sat on his Father’s usual seat, the guest of honor, flanked by Vergo and Eustass Harld. Kidd wished he were sitting besides him, but as it was, the boy he’d marry had that seat, while he was shoulder to shoulder with the silent right hand and his bamboo staff. 

He kept his eyes on the roast piece of firebird in his plate, brain suddenly short-cut as all waited for his answer expectedly. He felt Father’s gaze burning him, the weight of his expectation, and Doflamingo’s, piercing, and at last—the _little bird’s_.

Gathering courage, Kidd looked up. The boy had shed his fur coat. The button-up shirt underneath was nothing short of elegant: tunic of dark silk, matching gold belt and earrings, so very far from the ragged, mismatched clothing of most of the Family, save for the Joker. Black nails, silver rings. Kidd noticed for the first time dark circles under the cold grey eyes, faint freckle over his dark skin, the faded scar on his chin. Ink on the back of his hand. Hauntingly beautiful, from lands far away. How did he find him? Gods knew it wouldn’t be very wise to say it out loud. 

Yet _how_ was one supposed to compliment one’s future partner in front of both families and some more without fucking up?

Do not speak unless spoken to. Ha. Kidd chose his words carefully. “Have yet to know his name, my lord, though I can’t help but feel very interested.” 

He thought he saw those grey eyes flash with humor—or animosity—and for a quick second feared he might have said something stupid, but a quick glance at Father assured him he had not. Kidd even managed to steal a gruff laugh out of Joker, whom seemed pretty amused. 

“You have a point there, kid. Law, don’t be so rude. Won’t you tell the boy a little about yourself?”

Kidd would be mortified, really, so he felt for him and tried looking as sorry as possible. Law's lip slightly twitched, though he obeyed. The redhead didn’t know what kind of voice he expected him to have, but it sure as fuck was not _this_. 

“My apologies. I am Trafalgar Law, and I work as a surgeon for the Family, though I’m also a rune specialist and spell-breaker. Ah, and I do think I’m a little older than you.”

Wow, Kidd thought. 

“Wow,” Kidd then said out loud, which he instantly regretted. 

Doflamingo was smiling, though it wasn’t a very content smile.

“Our Law can work magic in many fields. Not just a figure of speech, by the way. He’s a man of many talents, however unruly.”

The warlord appeared proud of his little prodigy, though there was a very mocking tone hiding underneath. Kidd didn’t miss it and oddly felt annoyed. Why did _that_ mean? Law’s face didn’t betray whatever he might feel, and he went back to moping over his food which he was yet to touch. Joker lost interest in the pair, going back to chat up politics and future deals with Harld.

Kidd thought diner might never fucking end. 

Then, Law excused himself to the bathroom. One look from Father was all it took for Kidd to offer himself as guide. The _surgeon_ sent an annoyed look his way but Kidd shook it off, forcing a smile as they both exited the great hall with many eyes boring holes on their backs. 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, spell-breaker, huh.” 

Never in his life had he felt this oppressed by the endless corridors of his own house. Kidd felt sweat once again trickle down his nape, too hot in his armor-suit. Certainly _not_ because of the Donquixote underling walking a very fast pace by his sides. 

Law was silent, lips curled down, shadows obscuring his face. He kept walking faster, pretending the redhead did not exist. He looked a hell of a lot more spiteful now that there was no façade to uphold in front of Doflamingo and Harld, which—of course—piqued Kidd’s interest.

He tried again, looking glancing at the frowning face of Law. “Pissing rooms ain’t this way, you know.”

Law ignored him, then ignored him some more until they did reach the bathrooms. Some fucking _toupet_ he had, for sure. He turned to face Kidd, glaring.

“Now, Eustass. Am I allowed to free my bladder alone or are you going to follow me there too?” 

Kidd scowled. He was feeling more and more annoyed by the second and no amount of interest could help that. He didn’t give a shit about etiquette and good manners like most families in the Highlands—but even _he_ did not like being disrespected under his own roof like that.

“Find your own way back, asshole.” 

Law offered a mock curtsy before disappearing behind the doors, which made Kidd feel even more pissed. And they were to be married until death did them apart? Way to fucking go. Kidd knew Father would have his head if he came back before Law, so he waited a few feet from the great hall for the boy.

When he finally did come back, Kidd glanced at him from the corner of his eyes though he kept the scowl on his face—Law, on the other hand, had the polite mask back on. Kidd didn’t care either way, yet put up fronts too as they both made their way back to the dining table. 

“Boys,” Doflamingo greeted, sounding merrier than he had been before, perhaps Father’s honeyed wine making effect.

Kidd kept his temper in check as Law and he both took their seats back, nodding to his father. Table was mostly emptied of its meals, bellies full as everybody sipped wine or ale happily. 

The warlord waited a short while before he stood up, towering over all from all his height. “Harld and I have come to great conclusions. Must I say, better than anything I anticipated. Let us now drink to our new alliance, future agreements, but first and foremost,” he lifted his cup in the air, Cheshire grin big, “to Kidd and Law.” 

The hall erupted into joyful _ayes_ , ale flying all round as cups were thrust in the air. Kidd felt his cheeks go red, which made his father smile faintly for a very brief second. Law had the decency to look somewhat elated, but Kidd knew better. 

Well. 

The whole matter could’ve been a lot shittier, though in that moment, as Doflamingo smiled his way before drinking, Kidd was sure of one thing—in the grand hierarchy of shitty things, this marriage made it to top three.


	3. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important** :  
> \- the Highlands/Red Hill/Mountain = pretty much Red line with a few twist and changes  
> \- one piece is in serious need of big bad redheads but hey. who complains i fished my fish elsewhere

“Roger’s mighty fucking balls,” Killer cursed.

There was no answer from Kidd expect a long, exaggerated roll of eye all the way to the back of his skull. So exaggerated in fact, it left him sort of dizzy. Killer, at the very least, didn’t look completely surprised or awe-stricken, rather in the in-between state of confusion turning to suspicion. 

“Yeaaaah,” Kidd drawled out, giving in to the urge of rolling his eyes again.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?”

The redhead kid gave a snort. “Ha.”

Killer’s upper lip rolled in distrust, though he didn’t add anything. He went back to beating steel with the full force and skill of a young, fierce blacksmith trained to forge like his life depended on it. Kidd couldn’t blame him—or anyone, really—to laugh at his face when he announced he was to wed a Donquixote kid, for he reacted the very same way two nights before as he laid in bed hours after the entire Family left, Father telling him then _son, you’re a man, now_. Now, as he stood in the Killer and Sons Atelier, facing his friend’s suspicious glances, the feeling still quite didn’t shake—Kidd couldn’t fucking _believe_ it.

And he certainly was not the only one. “Well ye know what, man? I don’t fucken’ believe you.”

Kidd threw his arms in the air.

“Wish I could not believe it either,” he muttered, flying a hand over flames to see if it hurt: it sure as fuck did. “I’ve been sold to damned Doflamingo out of all people by my own father.”

“Weird. Flamingo ain’t one to marry his psycho kids like that either,” Killed stated. 

“Obviously. Don’t think Law’s his kid anyway.”

“Law? Name’s Law? Haha.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Last time there was a Donquixote getting hitched my da still had all his fingers and half his mind.”

As if he’d heard, Old Killer shouted orders from the back of the atelier, which wasn’t anything the men working under his careful eye weren’t used to. Killer Junior (or Sandman to most, pet-name to tell dad and son apart, for the first was a mean, ruthless bastard with handful of murders down his belt whereas the second could hardly hurt a firefly let alone _kill_ anything breathing) wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, hurrying back to his work. Kidd snorted.

“What’s he like?” Killer asked. 

“Who?”

“Law, yer husband? Fuckwit.”

“He ain’t my rippin’ husband,” Kidd hissed. 

Killer scoffed before his hammer met steel again. He was working on some weirdly shaped daggers—who even used curved blades except flesh eaters and Kaido warriors? Certainly nobody there.

“But he will be,” he smiled, victorious.

Kidd opened his mouth only to snap it shut seconds after, which made Junior grin like he had won first place of the Davy Jones Contest. The greasy, long-haired, teeth-missing apprentice blacksmith thrust both thumbs in the air before turning his back to Kidd once more and this time, really getting down to business. Kidd didn’t mind. He would be lying if he said he descended all the way down from the Highlands only to tell Killer about his misfortune—he liked watching these men work.

They had blacksmith ateliers on the free cities of the Mountain too, but they were polished and clean in a way that didn’t sit right with Kidd. He enjoyed the show of flames bursting everywhere and blades turning orange under burning heat, men stripped to their pants flexing black-tainted muscles, the loud noises of hammer meeting sizzling steel echoing against the centuries-old stones of the atelier. The rough craftsmanship of down there could never compare to the fine, detailed, expert weaponry of the Highlands, swords and axes made to impress rather than kill, of course, but Kidd liked to believe Junior and all the other forged greater, better steel.

Time passed quickly and before he knew, worktime was over.

“Think yer brothers will come?” Killer asked when he came back with two curved horns filled with ale. 

Kidd shrugged, thanking the boy with a nod. “Wars won’t stop just because I’m getting married.”

“They ain’t in the King’s armies, tho. Maybe Paulie can make it.”

He thought about the idea for a quick second, then shook his head, swallowing a gulp of some nameless, bitter drink without grimacing for once. Maning up or something. “Dunno if there’ll be a ceremony or celebration or whatever, yeah? Roger’s beard, why are we even discussing _guests_ !”

Killer grinned around his horn. “Cuz it’s fun. Hope we’re invited.”

“If you can get that ancient fucking orc out of this damn atelier, sure thing.”

They bumped horns and laughed as all men around left their tools to enjoy lunch. Well, long past lunch anyway, but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone. Killer usually ate as he worked, which was fucking gross as Kidd—and his old man—often told him, but the young blacksmith didn’t seem to mind much grease and minerals mingling in his piranha sandwiches. As a result, the two of them could chill at the back of the atelier and drink ale far from the common hall where blacksmiths all sat around the great table. 

“Oi, Kiddo, by the way. You’re aware da still ain’t know you’re from up there?”

Kidd snickered. With his hair up, disheveled appearance and dirty clothes, he blended in just fine with the rest of ‘em. Old Killer never doubted his stories about living in the shit villages down the big rivers where your ma could very well be your sibling, which was funny enough. 

“Yeah, well. He’ll come around soon enough.”

Killer kicked his shin under the table, brows shooting up. “Ain’t ya have warhorse riding lessons or chess games to attend to, anyway?”

“Fuck off. I don’t do that.”

“Can’t fool me, m’lord.”

Kidd hit him. Killer hit back.

 

 

 

When Kidd actually did decide to leave, it was well past sunset, which meant Father would be home soon and he’d have to hurry up if he didn’t want to get scolded at the big age of eighteen. 

Although no one really cared what he did most times _if_ he attended to his lessons and tended to his chores, Kidd somehow felt he was walking on very thin ice ever since the marriage was announced. Watched, followed. Far-fetched perhaps, even more so because he didn’t think Father was actually watching. But. Donquixote. It was like hearing the ruffling of his feathered, jewel-embroidered coat down every sinuous paths. _Freaky_.

Kidd thought about everything he and Killer discussed and came to a very specific conclusion: something was wrong. 

More accurately, _everything_ was wrong, but specially this damn wedding. Donquixotes didn’t mingle with the rest of them, belonging to no country, no kingdom, bound to no laws except their own. Kidd didn’t even know Father and Doflamingo were old pals, which was weird and wrong on its own, but for Joker to actually go as far as to agree to an arranged marriage. . . Some serious, shady shit was going down and Kidd, although main protagonist, was kept in the dark about it. 

The skies were a hierarchy of violets and blues, twin moons hung high like silent watchers. The Free cities glowed high on the Red Hill, urging him home. He took his sweet time walking, whistling some old fae melodies.

Then. Kidd lifted his nose up, spotting a wild markhor trotting around. Grinned. “Hey, baby. C’mere.” 

If he managed to catch one of these magnificent, huge beasts, he could pretty much ride it up all the way up to the Highlands easily. The goat didn’t even look at him, nosing at the grass without a care in the world. He tried some more, got closer with careful steps. Hey, cute boy. Or girl. Clicking tongue, bribing with nuts or chasing it didn’t work either—Kidd felt his patience wearing out. 

“Please just let me fucking—” He jumped, but the damn thing jumped much better: escaped before he could catch it. Kidd planted face first on the grass. “Fine! I’ll just walk!” he shouted. 

To hell with markhors, to hell with planned weddings. He’d just fucking camp here and wait for death to point its pretty face.

“Roger’s beard, kiddo, you’re scaring the poor thing,” came a laughing voice from the dark bushes a few feet away. 

Bandits, thieves, mage-killers, death rowers, Kidd expected anything. Or not—a lanky blond kid emerged from the shadows, carrying a wooden stick, shaggy clothes hanging from his thin body, bold contrast to the shining gold on his belt. Kidd felt himself relax instantly when recognized him. 

“Heya, Sabo. Watcha doing out there?” 

Sabo made a vague gesture with his makeshift weapon. “I live here, remember? Some of us ain’t from the free cities.” 

“Huh. Right.” 

Kidd was sitting down, still looking pointedly at the goat, kind of feeling jealous of its horns—so big and curvy and imperial. Could’ve gone one on one and asserted dominance but he was just some hornless boy who couldn’t even catch a damn mountain goat. Sabo, though—he saw his friend approach the animal with practiced ease. _That_ wasn’t fair. 

“Gotta talk to ‘em,” Sabo said, a hand on the goat’s flank. “Have a lot to learn here, mate.” 

Kidd spat on the ground. “Whatever. Oh, meant to ask you, where’s your kid brother? Haven’t seen him ‘round lately.” 

Sabo eyed him sideways, tiny smile stretching his lips. “Luffy’s somewhere in the world, luffying.” 

“Wreaking havoc, ya mean.” 

“The usual. Anyway, roll in. Buddy here won’t hang around much longer.” 

Sabo nodded towards the goat, and Kidd’s face split into a big grin. In the end, Sabo didn’t linger around much longer either: he helped him hop on the beast’s back and slapped its ass, urging him forward, walking a mile or so, chatting up with Kidd before he vanished into thin air. Took Kidd a good minute of monologue to realize there was no Sabo walking by side anymore. Funky kid. He liked the barbaric bunch of them: Sabo, Ace, Luffy. No one knew how they survived, really, but they had always been around so no one questioned their existence anymore. Except perhaps when they were stealing from the market place or causing chaos in the Highlands, which was at the very least twice a week. Though it hardly mattered. They were _their_ little bandits, after all.

 

 

 

 

Much later, Kidd finally returned to his castle. He had left Marco the Markhor somewhere in the city for an uptight noble-born lady to have a heart-attack upon seeing the huge beast roam the city free. When old Kokoro was done threatening to punch his teeth out for being out late once again before he was allowed to take his bath, Kidd presented himself to diner wearing bedclothes, hair down, face free of make-up. 

Father was already seated. Diner table was as much of a huge monster as the goat had been, all perfectly sculpted wood and scary carved face around its feet. Kidd took his usual spot, two seats right from the patriarch. 

“Can I ask you something, say?” 

Father looked up for a short second only before he went back to reading his book. Kidd knew him enough to know he had his attention, so he pressed on, muttering.

“Why Law? I mean, everyone else got married to noble born women. Wiper even got to choose. Not very fair.” 

He kept his gaze to his plate, a tiny grimace turning his lips down. To be honest, Kidd didn’t mind: he swung pretty much in every way and didn’t care about what hid inside one's pants if he got his fun, though he wondered whether father knew already or simply did not care. Which would sort of hurt, even though he’d been raised with the same sort of practicality. The greater good—only the end mattered, not how we made it through, nor the means neither its cost.

Father’s voice took a gentle tone. “You are mistaken if you think I don’t know my own children, son.” 

Kidd’s head snapped up, brightening up. He shrugged, sheepish. “Wiper has a daughter and Kalifa’s pregnant. Dynasty’s secured. Why?”

Halrd’s eyes hardened and Kidd thought he might had just hit his quota of daily stupid questions father tolerated for his sake. Maybe it had already lessened since he’d become a _man_.

“You’re a young boy of age from the Highlands. Trafalgar Law is a good match. Leave the rest to the adults.” 

Roger that, he thought. End of the discussion. Or at least this matter in particular. Kidd looked at his plate of whatever the hell it was, not feeling much hunger tonight. There were other matters on his mind. 

Father’s silvers clicketed gently against his plate. “Joker requested the ceremony to take place on Donquixote territories. Then you boys could decide between yourselves where you wish to start living.” 

“What? We’ll have to go all the way… there?” Kidd could hardly imagine anyone wishing to attend the wedding if it happened in the middle of warzone, several Emperors up their asses. His own damn self included. “That’s…” 

“I know,” Harld sighed, “but we will get the better end of this deal in the long-term. In the meantime, we can only hope no bad thing happens. Besides, your brothers could also come.” 

Kidd felt conflicted, but in the end, the thrill of meeting Paulie and Wiper was greater than the nibbling fear of getting blown to pieces at his own wedding. At the very least, they’d die a family reunited. Ha. Father seemed thoughtful, but not exactly wary, as if he trusted Doflamingo enough not to doubt their safety. Perhaps it would be _fine_. 

“In any case, don’t feel too burdened by this whole event. It’s just another part of growing up. You’re both smart, wonderful young men. You will be fine.” 

A little smile touched the redhead’s lips, and he thought, perhaps—this didn’t have to turn out as bad as he had been making it up. He trusted his father’s judgment, his decision. Maybe there was some truth in Killer’s words, maybe not, or maybe whatever. Come what may. No use getting wrinkles over something he had, in the end, no real control over.

Kidd nodded. “Yeah. You're right, dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello AGAIN
> 
> this is just me having fun twisting characters into weird worlds and seeing how far i can go before i get decked :,) just a mood setting/filler chapter so you can have a general idea of life and stuff and characters and all! Also about kidd's brothers u dont wanna know how many braincells i lost trying to think about characters who'd work togather as a family and in the end went like: fuck it. We don't see enough of paulie and wiper anyway, so here go my men
> 
> let me know what you thought of this, comments and kudos keep me p much alive at this point,,,  
> ps: going to a god awful, forsaken warzone country for 2 weeks to visit family, if i dont return by then ISIS blew me to bits and pieces xoxo


	4. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meet the team, lads

The old ones' tales weren't anything Kidd didn't know by heart, but at times, he wished they weren't just mere legends and stories to put hearts at ease. That there could be something at least valuable, if not life-saving, to learn from the intense adventures of dragon riders. 

There usually wasn't. 

As a kid, he’d spent countless nights hunched over ancient books with worn spines and faded leather fronts reading about kings of faraway lands, knights of gold protecting magic realms. The Highlands had its own heroes, some turned to ashes, others immortalized in gold, but most had been long forgotten. The real world, as old Kokoro often said, didn’t need heroes. It was _cruel_ , the reason why dragons went extinct and every rider died horrible deaths. 

Or why, all of a sudden, house Eustass lost all glory to their name. 

If the perspective of an arranged marriage wasn't enough to bring down Kidd's spirits, knowing half the fucking city spat at the mere mention of the family name got under his skin quicker than he'd admit. It happened overnight, the way great plagues did. 

Kidd thought it'd be alright nonetheless, at first.

They were no heroes, but they were appreciated, a vital part of the city once, each generation serving the King’s armies first and the free folk second. But Kokoro’d never mentioned how, sometimes, it took one night a few rumors to stain a reputation forever, and Kidd found out keeping faith was way harder than it looked.

He thought he'd be fine and pull through, the way he'd been taught to—the way Wiper and Paulie did when duty called, the way Father expected him to. But days passed, servants came and went with hushed conversations around him, gifts in anticipation of the wedding—some crude, nameless, mockeries disguised with ribbons and gold—arrived, and the Highlands started whispering. 

About Eustass Harld offering his last son's hand in marriage to some Donquixote scum. About Eustass Kidd's soon-to-happen union dooming the Free Cities to certain death.

Nothing stayed secret long in the Free cities, especially weddings of the young ones; Kidd's was no exception, although quite exceptional in its very nature. The Council was yet to assemble, but visitors gathered more often than not by the mansion’s doors to complain. Neighborly visits in appearances, though each party knew better. Father wasn’t exactly receiving threats, but the dripping undertone of noblemen when they spoke about the wedding held plenty of menaces. 

On the other hand—Kidd’s battles were much more upfront.

It wasn’t anything he couldn’t bear. Sideway glances when he strolled down the merchant streets, pointed fingers when he walked by private sorcerer schools, and at times, rude conversations behind his back when people didn’t give a shit whether he heard or not. Nothing he hadn’t expected in the first place--it didn’t mean it was easy to live with. 

Still, Kidd kept silent and didn’t mention any of it to Father, in fear of disappointing him, of appearing weak and gentle-hearted, exactly the contrary of everything the three other men of house Eustass embodied. Wiper, as the eldest and heir to the dynasty, got through his own wedding just fine, no matter how much the Nobles bitched about a wildling girl becoming their equal. And Paulie, altough not given the choice to marry the woman he loved, had never complained once, even if Kalifa's parents—arrogant aristocrats standing so much higher than him—had been hell to deal with.

If house Eustass had recovered from that blow, its glory never stained, then Kidd thought his own association with Trafalgar Law wouldn’t cause the downfall of neither his family nor the Highlands. 

It would _not_.

 

( . . . )

 

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning this damn much.” 

If Cavendish expected any answer from the redhead, he got none. But he had not in the first place, so the blond kid didn’t pay too much attention to the silence that followed. In fact, Cavendish knew he'd find his friend all sullen and closed off as he furiously brushed Victoria, his companion of many years—and that’s exactly how he found the now reknown Eustass Kidd in Mihawk’s stables.

“Hi, girl,” the blond smiled, fingers gently patting the horse’s flank. 

Victoria gave a hum of approval, then forgot all about his existence. 

The castle’s gardens—if one could actually call the several hectares of grasslands and fields surrounding the stone giant—were mostly deserted. Wealthy young men of the rebellious kind didn’t care much about additional riding lessons when they could be out and having fun elsewhere, _especially_ after a long week of intense study about magic theories and barbaric history at the Academy. The stables, though, were empty of any sort of presence—Mihawk’s remaining students had all gone hunting on horseback, expect two.

If Cavendish listened to the himself, he’d split too, but—he kind of couldn’t. He was already treading on thin ice because of supposed bad behavior and shitty grades and affiliation with the worst kind of boys in the city: he _had_ to stay. A deal was a deal, he’d promised his folks to behave anyway. Plus—Mihawk wasn’t a forgiving master of arms either. 

“You’re missing practice,” Cavendish pointed out—obviously—just to be sure it wasn’t the usual complete zoning out Kid did on occasion.

He was, too, but his definition of _behaving_ didn’t expand this far. Eustass, though? From the sideway glare he received, Cavendish guessed he knew exactly what he was doing. Which, for the past twenty minutes, had been staring pointedly at that one spot he kept brushing over and over again, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes ablaze with a fury he carefully kept to himself.

“..right, firebirds are annoying anyway,” the blond huffed.

Cavendish leaned against the wooden barricade of the pens, curling his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling a strange mix of concern and newfound compassion for the poor guy.

Of course he knew—who wouldn’t, in a city where no such thing as a secret existed—but didn’t understand the fuss around it. Better yet—Cavendish, out of all people, _knew_ \--understood full well.

“Look, it’s just stupid banter,” he tried, scratching the back of his head. “Y’know how boys get.” 

Eustass’ back stiffened at the words. How boys get—what did it even mean? The redhead turned to him, features pinched together bitterly: if he had any brows, they’d be furrowed really bad. Not angry, rather edging toward utter irritability. Cavendish guessed Stelly’s words had been one taunt too many and braced himself for what was about to come.

But-- “Is Meo coming ‘round today?” Kid inquired with a slight frown, pointing the brush towards the blond. 

Cavendish stared dumbly until he realized what he’d asked. He’d expected Kidd to get angry or lash out or ask him to fuck off—certainly not ask about his infamous, cast-out, canny thief of a boyfriend. Blinking a few times, he straightened up and offered a little smile, feeling a sudden spark of energy at the mere mention of the green-haired hooligan. 

“Yeah. Wanna hang out, later? I mean, after practice and stuff.” 

Victoria, the great half-breed warhorse of 16-something hands, answered with a high-pitched neigh before Kidd could give his own agreement. By the looks of it, she seemed pretty eager to see Bartolomeo again too.

It was enough for Kidd, at last, to crack a smile.

( . . . )

After two weeks of the same masquerade from the entire city, Kidd felt dead tired.

Exhausted, although school and lessons had started to lose intensity in light of upcoming fall feasts. Back at Mihawk’s, when the master of arms caught them slacking off with Bartolomeo hiding in the stables, the fear he put into their body and the way he made them ride ‘til their thighs burned and back felt like breaking was enough for them to regret every bit of free time they took. But it wasn’t that either.

It was stress, deteriorating sleep quality and the occasional shit-talk he’d come across which drained every bit of energy he had. He wasn’t used to it, he wasn’t used to it all. 

It’d be embarrassing to admit, but ever since he could remember, Kidd had been raised in a safe, comfortable environment. Not that Father was lenient and gentle, but there hadn’t been a time where he felt like the entire world was out to get him. That such thing could ever happen to a boy like him—a boy who came from a noble house with great reputation, a Highlander. Kidd’s future wasn’t the exciting kind—he’d just marry and carry on his house’s legacy the way Wiper and Paulie had before him—but he had one nevertheless, and it held good things ahead.

Life was good and easy. He attended his lessons regularly, he had Old Kokoro, Chimney and the many servants around him to tend to his needs, and Father let him off one day per week to do whatever he wished. He had Killer, and all the other wild kids around. Life was pretty fucking good and easy, even though wars were gruesome and bloody down the Red Hill. It hardly mattered when you weren’t concerned, when you didn’t hear. 

Now? Kidd didn’t even know.

Shoulders hunched and dirty boots soiling the elegant floors of the castle, Kidd moved on autopilot, irritated beyond reason. In a matter of days, with a single decision from Father—without ever _consulting_ him—his life had gone downhill. The entire future of both his house and the Highlands was a heavy weight he’d never been prepared to carry around. Yet, fundamentally, he couldn’t even be mad at Father, because—

“Roger’s beard, would look at where you’re going!” 

Kidd’s snapped back into reality instantly as he knocked into something rather tiny. Looking down, he found a little girl holding her nose with both hands and glaring at him with all the fury she could manage. 

“Oh, Aisa,” he mumbled, right before his mind caught up and he _realized_. He'd just run into his niece--who lived three cities south. “Wait, what? Aisa?” 

“Yes, me, you dummy!” 

Already wearing her bedtime gown, dark red hair tumbling down her back in healthy waves, Aisa didn’t look like herself anymore. She’d grown up so much since the last time he’d seen her it was sort of freaky to see her now. Her frown and angry face was exactly Wiper’s, even though she still was completely and utterly a copy of Laki at the same age.

Kidd crouched down to her level, feeling every muscle of his legs protest instantly, and offered a sheepish, apologetic smile. “You okay? I’m sorry, I swear didn’t see you.” 

“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t looking,” she scrunched her nose, sniffed several times, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I think you broke it. Look.”

She turned her head every angle to prove to him just how much he’d hurt her and Kidd almost believed her, panicked and worry mixing before he remembered how much of a sly little thing brat she was and sighed. Upon further inspection of the supposedly damaged bone, he was proven right: she was just being dramatic. It’d still cost him a lot to be forgiven, though. 

Kidd flicked her forehead and promptly ducked his head down before she could retaliate. “When did you guys arrive?”

From everything Aisa told him then, Laki and had arrived this morning, a little after he’d gone out. They were here for the wedding, of course, which had Aisa jumping up and down, overjoyed and blabbering about wanting to marry a prince too once she was all grown up and pretty like her mother. Kidd didn’t have the heart to tell him he was marrying no prince, rather a bunch of stuff you couldn’t name to a nine year-old. 

“Oi, Aisa-chan, dinner is ser—oh! Kidd, welcome home,” said a tall blond kid with a square nose and a heavy Southern accent as he bowed a little. “Want me to run a bath for ya, m’lord?” 

Kidd returned the servant’s greetings with a little smile. “Hey, Kaku. I’d like that, but take the little monster to the dining hall first, will you?”

“Nooooo—I’m _not_ hungry—” 

Aisa protested some more and, by the time Kidd got to his chambers, he could still hear her high-pitched yells echo through the castles’ walls. He figured he’d just run the bath himself, so he did, and took his sweet time relaxing in hot water to ease the ache in his stiff joints. By the time Kidd joined the rest of his family in the dining hall, it’d been a long hour or so already, and he expected the place to be empty and table already cleared. Instead, Aisa’s voice could still be heard, and the festiveness of chatter amidst the grown-ups surprised Kidd enough to keep him planted on his feet, staring at his family from afar. 

It felt strange, having a full house again, after everything happening of late. His brothers didn’t live in the mansion anymore, which meant the corridors and halls were awfully quiet. Kidd missed the roaring laughter of his elders and the cheerful, funny friends they’d bring along to drink ale or share a meal, but he missed Aisa’s presence even more. Besides, with the wedding. . . everyone and everything was even tenser and on the edge.

Dinner with Father had become quiet. They talked, but there wasn’t much to say these days. Kidd wasn’t holding a grudge, but he couldn’t deny the fleeting resentment he felt towards him, especially after rough times. But right now—seeing Laki and Kalifa’s bickering, Father teaching Aisa how to properly cut through her meat, servants by the huge fireplace chatting happily to one another—Kidd realized he terribly missed all of that.

“Oh! Kidd!” chirped Aisa with her mouth full, throwing her hands up in the air which stole a defeated sigh from her grand-father. “C'm'eat!” 

Kidd startled, but soon found himself returning everyone’s smiles. Laki crushed him in a bone-breaking hug, petting his still damp hair with great fondness, telling him all about how tall and big he’s got since the last time they saw each other, while Kalifa just raised one fine eyebrow and smirked around her glass of wine. 

“It’s good seeing you two,” he said at last, quiet and sheepish but honest, once he was finally seated, feeling happier than he’d been in a while. 

They talked and ate a lot, caught up on everything each party missed, the atmosphere mellow and relaxed. The wedding, although the very reason why all three had visited from so far away, was carefully avoided. Except by Aisa, of course, as each remark made Kidd snicker with bewilderment and a lot of self-directed derision. 

Once the little girl was put to bed by Kaku—who fought bravely just to get her off the dining table, you had to give him that—Father asked for more wine, and Kidd sensed very distinctly that the matter of his wedding wouldn’t be avoided no more.

It was late night, with most of the candles melted and lamps no longer working their magic, or at least not needed to. The dining hall was only illuminated by the soft glow of a fire tended by Father himself. Laki, chin resting on her palm, was looking at Kid with a little smile lifting up her red lips and a glimmer of malice in her eyes. 

“So,” she started, smile widening some more.

Kidd felt like running away—

“So, how didja find that lad of yours, cream pie? Y'all met and spoke already?” Kalifa continued, leaning in towards the brunette with a satisfied smile as they both chuckled. “C’mon, you’re a big boy, now. Talk.” 

—and, really, he almost did. 

“I don’t—I mean, I don’t—I don’t know," Kidd confessed, turning bright red.

Both women were merciless in their teasing, and they continued, one after the other, asking him all kinds of questions, laughing openly and freely. Without malice, the way they did when they all lived under the same roof and he was a little younger, chubbier but just as easily fired up—all of this under Father’s amused gaze as he sipped his wine quietly. Luckily for Kidd though, Kalifa soon grew tired, grumbling and blaming her pregnancy as she made her way out of the dining hall, Laki on her heels after she kissed both Kidd and her father-in-law goodnight. 

Then it was just him and his father, alone and wrapped in silence once again after the happy chaos and bubbly conversations.

Kidd’s throat tightened all of a sudden. He felt it, now; how exhausted he was, how sensitive he had grown these past few weeks after constantly overhearing the free folk speak their name with spite and contempt. He wished he could tell Father about it, about the nasty glares and cruel remarks, but couldn’t—he had to endure, to be brave. To be a man. 

It wasn’t going so well. 

Father was humming, still on the pages of the book he started reading. Kidd’s head tilted up, but he didn’t speak, afraid of his voice betraying him now. “You know, it is that time of the year again…” 

Kidd didn’t know. That time of the year? Which one? He was being evasive again. It usually made him uncomfortable, creating a pit of anxiety in him, but the patriarch had that little patient, calm smile, and the lines of his forehead were smooth—he wasn’t about to scold him. Kidd breathed out through his nose, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his hand.

Father continued, still in that same strange merry tone, as if speaking to himself. “…how is it called again? Your aunt Nami spends the entire week there for the occasion. . . It's all you young folk talk about. . . Oh, yes. I remember.” 

He looked up, then, dark eyes bearing none of their usual hardness as Kidd waited and waited— 

“The Gypsy fairs.” 

Kidd blinked. “The gypsy fairs?” he muttered.

“I reckon you haven’t had a pleasant few weeks. What do you say, son? A few days down the Red Hill to get your mind out of all of this. You could ask young Killer to come, if he’d like.” 

Oh. Oh— _this_ … 

Kidd opened his mouth, but snapped it back shut for a lack of words. Father offered one of his half-smiles, and that made the redhead even more choked up. 

The gypsy fairs—if there was one thing you couldn’t miss, it sure as hell was those. They happened every year or two, never in the same place, but always during the first winds of fall. Kidd, and every other highlander child—or adult, really—heard all kinds of tales about those fairs; the magic behind it all, the beautiful tents and caravans, the Gypsies themselves dancing and singing, the bonfires and ancient artefacts they sold, the stories they told and the good wine they poured.

Unfortunately, the Gypsy fairs weren’t for people like Kidd: proper, educated and _well-bred_ people. 

And here Father was—offering him a chance to breathe, to have fun, to get away from all of this. From something he’s caused, or rather feels responsible for. Eustass Harld wasn’t a man of many words, but he noticed things, and he did care ehind that detached, practical act of his.

It was strangely sweet. Kidd’s eyes stung a bit and he didn’t feel that shitty anymore. “I would... I’d like that.” 

Harld gave a brief tilt of his head, returning to his reading, but certainly not before adding one crucial hing.

“Perfect. But don’t think you rowdy boys will be left on your own—aunt Nami’s coming too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know damn well i couldn't keep either of these characters out of this fic for long so yeah :,)) kind of doing some more mood setting and world shaping about our boy kidd
> 
> at first i wrote about law and the family, but i didn't feel like introducing them so early on, so i just rewrote an entire different chapter and ta-da! shit gave me SO much trouble i swear i wasn't just chilling and forgetting about this fic
> 
> comments keep me kickin’ so pls don’t hesitate <3


End file.
